Some of the sunflowers gamely growing at work are getting old and cold now that autumn is well and truly into its stride.
Some of the later, younger ones are so desperate for sun, they've become elongated skinnymalinks, with noticeably smaller flower heads. They are like the runts of the litter. Now if we must moralise (and I think we are beholden to in the case of sunflowers, whose very existence is a moral seeing as they are prime examples of circadian rhythms; now maybe that doesn't exactly make sense, but today I am not in the mood for reason) the moral of a skinny sunflower would likely be that 'lie-a-beds do not profit'.
Crumpled and rumpled, the older sunflowers are beginning to whither and droop in front of our eyes. The black seeds are drying to grey. Their sunflower-beauty is fading, their heavy heads flopping.
"Doesn't that sunflower there look grumpy?" one of my co-workers commented.
I agree, it has a distinct Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street look about it. You'd be grumpy too if you could feel your once-youthful vigour draining away. Believe me.
The work I do with infants and toddlers is physically and emotionally draining. I was arriving home at nights utterly exhausted. Writing has been out of the question, as I needed all weekend to recover. A full week was becoming too much. When I handed in my resignation, with the aim to work from home doing home-based care, my boss came up with a proposition: drop to four days a week until July, when with a proposed staff change, I would be able to cut that back farther to working only three days a week. Of course it is a fianancial cut for me, but for the sake of my physical state, and just as importantly, my writing, I accepted.
I now have Mondays off, which I have strictly tagged as my Writing Day.
***
I can't believe that it is over a week ago that we went along to Dunedin's first ever
Pecha Kucha night. Haven't heard of a Pecha Kucha night? Well, neither had I until artist and writer, Claire Beynon, let us know that there was an event organised here in Dunedin, and she was in it.
Go Here for a treat - a transcript of Claire's very special presentation and photos. Beautiful, other-worldly shots of the ice and other weather-sculptured features of that awesome continent; Antarctica. Claire has an impressive way of capturing a detail; her eye picks out beauty otherwise missed by the rest of us who merely glance over things, and then she has the gift of being able to exquisitely describe and translate what we are looking at. The world is a transformed, wondrous place when viewed through Claire's non-jaundiced eyes.
Pecha Kucha is Japanese for 'Chit Chat', and is principally a description of the kind of chatter teenage girls indulge in. Starting in Japan, Pecha Kucha is a phenomenon that is spreading like wildfire throughout the world. I guarantee, there will be one near you! (On their
website you can look at the sidebar list of April's up-and- coming events, and check if there's one on near you.)
At the Art Gallery in Dunedin, we enjoyed a high-interest-packed time with twelve speakers (artists, architects, sculptors, dancers ... to name a few) talking about their passions, with a screen showing photos to back up their words. Each speaker has twenty seconds to present each of their twenty pictures or images. There was humour and beauty; the quixotic mixed in with the normal and familiar (such as an ordinary, but well-loved-all-the-same, vege. garden.)
***
At the moment writing-wise I am working on a long poem. The poem is made up of a series of short poems able to be read on their own and still make sense. A little bit like Lego bricks. Whether the bricks are the same colour, I'm not sure.
I am getting a pile of work together (mainly poetry) that can be sent out. It is years since I sent anything out - apart from the Monday's Poem in our local newspaper, the ODT - and I am feeling very afraid. Rejections are inevitable. Rejections are cold and heartless. Rejections are the last few thuds of the hammer on the nail you have already partly-hammered in all by yourself; the one that says, "I am no good."
***
(Later)
And here's a freshly-baked poem ... still warm ... like a hot cross bun ...
Based on a direct quote, written about what happened; verbatim.
separated
No he says
he doesn’t want to see his little brother
through the fence.
He’s in the Over 2’s
his brother in the Under’s,
separated
by a wooden fence
they can see each other
through. No
he doesn’t want to take us up
on our offer
to say hello through the rails.
No he says, no
he won’t do that
because he says
it makes me feel sad
and it breaks my dreams
and it breaks my rain.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
See, my teeth are as sharp as your teeth.
See, I am much taller than you are.
What speed limit?
One of the colours for the stripes is a butternut yellow - I wonder if Dinzie's 'Day of the Pumpkin' influenced my choice?
The weather lately has been warm and deep. As if autumn's full of the peace that comes before time runs out. I remind myself not to fret about things (like staff meetings and long, grey days) that haven't happened yet.
